Breakfast Affairs
by Emerald.Taurus08
Summary: Based on a post I saw that said England had a cooking anxiety issue. England wanted to make France breakfast. France had other ideas after a mishap. FRUK. Rated T for implied sexual content. Fluff.


Arthur Kirkland was many things. He was the personification of the British Isles, the Black sheep of Europe, and the lover of Francis Bonnefoy better known as the personification of France.

But he was not a bad cook. No, England had an anxiety issue whenever he cooked for others not himself and messed everything up.

Which is why Arthur was experiencing this little predicament where there was a bowl of pancake batter of the floor next to him as he himself was on his floor, sitting in a W-position and covered in flour and said pancake batter. Tears were threatening to fall from his eyes and he had a balled fist attempting and failing to stop the onslaught, the other hand was was holding a whisk tightly as he balled up the frilly white apron.

Why was he attempting to make pancakes, you ask? It's simple. Francis had spent the night and he wanted to make the Frenchman breakfast.

Looking around his kitchen, Arthur started hiccuping at the mess surrounding him and wondered where it was he went wrong.

Upstairs, in Arthur's bedroom, lay Francis in the middle of the large, king sized bed. Navy blue bed sheets covered the otherwise naked Frenchman, his silken, shoulder length, blond locks lay askew around his head like a halo and soft snores were escaping his mouth.

He looked like the perfection he was and then the crash of pots falling to the floor and thump of what was suspected to be a body awoke him.

Groggily, the nation sat up on the bed and looked around.

"Ma Cherie? Angleterre? Mon amour?" He called out sleepily before deciding to get up from bed when he received no answer.

Not bothering with clothes, the exhibitionist he was, Francis stepped out and started on his way to the kitchen where the noise seemed to have come from. The closer he got, the louder the sound of sniffling and hiccuping got until he was standing in the kitchen doorway.

The sight that greeted him was enough to give cavities and create possible love rivals. That thought alone was enough to fully awake him as he looked around at the mess. There was pancake batter everywhere, even the ceiling, pots lay askew on the tiled floor, squishing berries that dyed the white tiles in reds and blues, there was a fire on the stove, and butter in the counter.

In the middle of it all, sat his beautiful Angleterre, crying and looking absolutely delectable in that frilly white apron, his blond hair loudly and clearly screaming 'I just woke up from a great round of sex and I don't care'. His lips trembled and green eyes were glassed over.

"Mon Angleterre, what is wrong?" The Frenchman asks as he moves toward the British man in worry after turning off the stove.

When the younger of the two men didn't answer him but instead sniffled, France picked the English nation bridal style and strides toward the dining table, saved of any mess, and depositing his still sniffling lover onto it, standing between his legs.

"Mom amour, would you tell moi what happened?" He tried again, coaxing him as he took hold of the smaller's hand and licking some batter off his cheek, causing Arthur to blush furiously as he went to hiccup an answer.

"I wa-wanted t-to make you breakfast, b-but the-the berries f-fell and th-then the pots, and-and I-I cou-couldn't keep h-hold of the batter an-and-and-" he cut himself off as he started crying again and his words nearly inaudible.

France found the display to be, too, adorable and couldn't resist the chuckle that left his lips and he smoothed over the tears with his thumbs and gave the crying man a kiss on his lips, licking at the batter there.

"Oh my sweet lapin, do not cry." He starts, smiling charmingly at his lover as he kisses away another tear. "We can worry about breakfast later. I, however, think that we should clean you up. Non?" France says, voice husky, and cerulean blue eyes filled with lust as his erection, now rock hard, poked at Arthur's inner thigh.

It was then he realized his belle lapin was wearing nothing under the apron as he was straddled by the smaller of the two and hands gripped at his shoulders.

Looking into pools of green, a lascivious grin came onto the Frenchman's face as pools of green became clouded with need and lust before all he saw was the messy blond hair as Arthur ducked his head and started kissing, licking, and sucking at his collarbone.

Moving up the stairs and into the lavish bathroom in Arthur's bedroom, Francis proceeded to remove the apron and turn on the water, claiming full pink lips in the process.

"I think, mon amour, that you deserve a little punishment for looking so damnably adorable."

When America, Canada, Spain, N.Italy and S.Italy, Japan, Germany, Prussia, and Russia came by the house later on around noon, they turned right around and left, locking the door behind them at the sounds echoing down from the second floor of the house.


End file.
